Happy Holidays - Chapter 1

Blood.  So much blood.  These were the longest ninety seconds of my life.  Until this moment, I had never witnessed such a scene that was not made for the big screen.  It all happened so fast, nothing like slow-motion Hollywood.  But I remember every second. I was so afraid.



* * *



I finally worked up the energy to get out of bed and throw some clothes on, powered by the grumble at the bottom of my stomach. I walked through the patch of warm tiles the sun had been warming up for the past half an hour and selected a large breakfast bowl from the kitchenette cupboard.  I picked up the open cereal box from the surface and shook some out into my bowl.  I let out a sigh as my excitement diminished.  I was forgetting that my stubborn sister, Jen, had insisted on buying a big box of boring bran.  It’s probably supposed to be healthier or something.  I didn’t really have much choice other than to just deal with it, though.  Besides, you can’t let something like that get you down when you’re on holiday. 

  Unbeaten by adversity, I grabbed the milk carton from the fridge.  Perhaps I could just wash down the cereal without having to taste it.  I tipped the carton in the direction of my bowl of blandness.  Nothing came out but the sour taste of disappointment.

  ‘Thanks, Jen!’ I shouted.  A muffled reply came from the bathroom, where she was applying her face.  I took that as an agreement to come to the market with me for more milk.

  She finally appeared with her hair and make-up ready for the beach.  In fairness, she did look good, but why she feels the need to wear make-up on the beach, I’ll never know.  I lectured her about finishing the last of the milk again and bitched for a while about her choice of breakfast cereal.  She wasn’t bothered and I had already resigned myself to the fact that it wouldn’t make a difference.  Her optimistic temperament didn’t help my mood, but you couldn’t fault her for it. 

  ‘Come on then,’ she said.  ‘Let’s go find baby brother some milk!’

  Damn!  Once again she had succeeded in making me feel really silly.  I did, however, want the milk.  So I gave in and followed her out of the hotel.





  We only needed bread and milk.  We had just made it to the end of the dairy aisle when two large men in leather jackets interrupted our morning shopping.  They were huge, instantly intimidating.  One of them had a nasty scar running over his right eye and the other had a limp.  I got the feeling that these men didn’t shy away from confrontation.  Both men wore gloves and entered the shop with their arms already extended in our direction. They fired two shots each.  This day was not getting any better.  My automatic reaction was to duck and cover.  Sounds of shattering glass and things falling over came from all directions, along with a clipped burst of screams, followed by a disturbingly eerie silence.  I felt damn lucky I wasn’t hit, but it must have been close.  Something still wasn’t right.  Besides the unexpected and quite frankly terrifying experience of being fired at, something felt wrong.

  I looked up to where my sister was standing moments before.

  ‘Jen,’ I called out cautiously, trying not to attract too much attention. My sister was falling to her knees next to me.  She slumped onto her back at the end of the aisle, clutching her stomach.  I dropped to my knees at her side.  She was shaking violently.  Her eyes were wide with shock, locked in place, staring forwards.  I looked over my shoulder for help and saw the gunmen frantically clawing for money at the till before making a run for it.  My shallow breaths mirrored hers as we gasped for air.  I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.  She lifted her hand away from her stomach to inspect the wound and blood flowed through a small rip in the front of her blouse like a deep red river.  Her energy was draining quickly and her arm dropped to the floor into a pool of her own blood.  I pressed one hand to her stomach to try and stop the bleeding and grabbed her hand tightly with the other.

  ‘Don’t die,’ I pleaded. ‘Stay with me.’

  Her lips moved as if she was trying to speak, but no sound came out.  I watched helplessly as her eyes rolled and it became clear that she was fighting a losing battle.  I felt pressure building up in my eyes as they filled with tears.  I could feel her squeezing my hand.  I squeezed back and felt her shakes easing up. My knees felt warm and I noticed my jeans had started to soak up blood from the floor.  I looked up with my bleary eyes to search my nearby surroundings for any kind of help.  Nothing.  I was lost and felt entirely useless.  I couldn’t find any words and sobs were the only sounds which would leave my mouth.  Everyone else had escaped the scene.  We were alone.

  The quiet room became silent as she exhaled a long, slow breath.  Her eyes narrowed and stopped, resting half open.

  I waited for her to breathe in again, but nothing happened.  As the harsh reality dawned on me, I wrapped my arms around her and clamped my eyes shut as I wept. 

I sat up, helplessly staring at her lifeless face.  Her eyes sprung open.